I Won't Dance Without You
by dance-of-the-butterflies
Summary: A series of oneshots about Moose and Camille, the cutest couple in Step Up 3.  Enjoy and review please :D
1. Watch Me

Author's note: I watched Step Up 3 2 days ago and I HEART MOOSE AND CAMILLE. Do they have a couple name? Coose? Haha. But I wrote this cause I was bored and I hope I didn't go out of character. Review so I know!

This chapter is dedicated to all the people in the same situation as M/C out there. (: You know who you are and so this story is for you. Enjoy!

* * *

She doesn't belong.

She feels this, as acutely as she feels beads of sweat trail down her face, clinging to her neck and staining her top. She feels it even as she looks around the room, at the neon coloured dancers who pack the room, whirling and popping to the beat. She knows it even from the confidence the other dancers affect; the way their bodies move so instinctively to the music, the smiles that take over their faces when they do so that suggests that this is where they belong. She thinks this, even as she watches them dance together in a group, him in the centre of all of them, each move coming as naturally as it were for him to breathe.

What is she doing here?

Her name is the first indication of that misfit: a girl with a name like Camille sounds like she should be sitting at home, playing piano and dancing in a well- lit studio with clean, waxed floor and satin pink shoes. Instead here she is, in the basement room of a carnival, with broken, un- cleaned machines all around her, wearing scuffed sneakers and dancing with a crew. And she loves how she is, and can break out of the stereotype of her name. Yet, just watching them, the crew, she thinks sadly to herself- you know they were born to dance, even as Luke always says. Not her. Even though she herself longs to possess half the talent and the gift that these dancers have, she knows she will never. Maybe that's why she stopped dancing. Because she knew, that she could never make it.

Her eyes fall idly over the crowd of dancers to pick out the curly mop of hair that is her best friend. He looks thoroughly unaware of everything, and from the look in his eyes, she knows he is far, far away right now, lost in dance. As always she cannot stop the admiration, the amazement that always wells up in her- at how unbelievably talented he is. And how much she loves him.

It occurs to her then that perhaps the reason why she stopped dancing was because she couldn't stop watching him. That she watched him more than she danced herself.

She tugs at her knot of hair, frustrated. This is her best friend. The boy who she scraped her knees with, the one whom she built a tree house with in second grade, the boy who stood up for her when she was being bullied by the popular girls for not wearing a dress to school. She's known him practically her whole life. Since when did things get complicated?

She is so lost in thought that she doesn't even see him come up and settle himself beside her on the floor. "Hey."

She starts then, looking into the stubble-filled, kind face of their leader, Luke. She's barely talked to him, except for that brief introduction that Moose gave when they'd first met the MSA crew. The way Moose pulled her close to him, his arm around her in that typical Moose fashion and proudly introduced her as his best friend in the whole wide world- and it's a pretty damn big world out there. The way she'd elbowed him in response, cheeks flushing slightly in automatic reaction to how nice it was when he pulled her so close, and how amazingly her small frame always seemed to fit his perfectly. And of course, Luke's raised eyebrow that Moose seemed to miss, and had made her flush even more. Thankfully, they'd started to dance after that, and so, every flush on her face could be explained away. That was the only time she'd talked to him.

"Hey." She tries to cover up her nervousness at being caught so off guard by Luke. "Why aren't you joining them?" As always her eyes stray to where everyone is watching Jacob dance and she can't help but be taken in by the hard hitting moves, the way his body just responds to the beat that for an instant there, she forgets that she is sitting beside Luke and that he is watching her.

"Hmmm," The sound of his voice snaps her back to him. "That's odd."

She feels a silent uh-oh creep all over her body, from the way he is watching her thoughtfully, scrutinizing her almost- and she is struck by how he can see things others can't even without his camera. "What's odd?"

He smiles then, leaning back to prop himself up with his arms, tilting his chin up at her in a silent challenge. "Great dancers don't watch other people- they do the dancing." His eyes catch hers. "They are the ones who get watched." His eyes drift away meaningfully to the crowd on the other side of the room and she bites her lips and looks away.

Luke, their leader, just said she was a great dancer. She, Camille Gage. She tries to wrap this around her mind even as he continues. "So Miss Gage, I think it's time for you to be watched."

His next words cause an even greater surge of surprise and fear even to well up in her- what can he mean by that? "Show us what you have. Even if they don't, I'll watch you. And you'll know that you are good."

The instinctive no is on her lips and she holds out her hands before her to say no but Luke simply shakes his head and in his eyes is a silent challenge she knows she can't refuse. And maybe, just maybe, a small part of her wants to take that challenge, wipe the floor with it, and prove to herself that it's possible that she can, she is a good dancer.

And so she stands.

* * *

He has been watching them from the corner of his eye and his puzzlement grows when he sees her stand, Luke still sitting by her. She stands, stretches- and he is struck by her petite frame, as he has been lately when he watches her dance. He watches as she places her feet apart slightly and addresses Luke whose reply causes twin surges of puzzlement and strangely hurt, to rise up in him. What in the world is Luke saying to her? Why is he even there? If he didn't know that Luke was crazy over Natalie, he might have suspected something. He, Moose is Camille's best friend. He should be over there, not Luke.

He catches himself- what's wrong with him? Jealousy is so third grade and he should have learned better from his time with Sophie, the queen of jealousy. And being Moose, he tries to ignore that weird stab of jealousy, and more importantly why he feels it, even as he wanders slowly to their corner of the room.

Her eyes are closed and she is tapping her foot in rhythm to the new beat that is pulsing. He can practically see her body itching to move to it, but yet she stays as she is, as if everything is running through her head and is coming to a climax…

Her eyes snap open.

She steps out, arms cutting through the air and she fan kicks. She spins and she jumps. She moves and shakes and somewhere inside her, she knows- she is dancing. Really dancing. She is vaguely aware that everyone is standing around her now, watching her, cheering her on but their whoops and clapping seem very, very far away. She is lost in her own world, in her own moves, in the melody that her body is making now.

He cannot take his eyes off her.

She always used to say how he was born to dance, but so was she. She just hides it so much better, and he wonders how you can be best friends with someone your whole life and yet not see so much about them. She is electric. She is breath taking in dance.

Vaguely he hears one of the Santiago twins say to him, "Man, your girlfriend can dance!" He knows what should come next, that whole spiel about how no, they are just best friends. Have been their whole lives and therefore she is his girl SPACE friend. Yet he cannot take his attention off her. Perhaps such explanations don't matter right now. Even if they did he can't bring himself to say so.

"Yeah," He murmurs. "She can dance."

Ignoring the looks that his response has generated from the others around him, he steps out, breaking her perfect reverie. Briefly he wonders if he should jump in there, he doesn't want to take her spotlight, but he is relieved from that thought when her face splits in a grin. This isn't the first time they have danced together, but somehow, it's different. It's so much more unrestrained, free, and amazing. He joins her and they mirror each other's move with a telepathy that comes from years of being best friends. They slide together, step, jump and they are flawless. They make melody together.

And it's only when the song sputters to a close that the rest of the crew erupt in cheers and whoops, Luke in the background smiling knowingly to himself and clapping for the both of them. He looks at her, his best friend, sweaty, out of breath- yet she has never been more beautiful to him and he pulls her in tightly and he can hear her laughter through his chest and it sparks off his own laughter- that pure joy that comes from dancing released.

* * *

They are walking back to the dorm later, after practice has ended, talking animatedly about their new routine. She seems different somehow to him. More free, more animated, more… alive. He watches as she spontaneously breaks out into a few steps on the pavement, ignoring the bewildered looks from a gentleman walking by. How she doesn't even notice that and just breaks out into laughter.

She has never been so happy.

She knows what it is like now. To dance. After so many years when she just dismissed dance as a high-school thing, it is still there. Inside of her. Waiting to be unleashed. She recalls remnants of that feeling she had when she danced and the thought itself makes her want to dance again and again and again. It is beautiful. It is her. She knows now, that she can dance. And that she is a good dancer. She silently thanks Luke, for teaching her that lesson that she so badly needed.

"So," She looks up at him, "What happened between you and Luke before your," Here he pauses to mimic some of her moves this afternoon and she laughs in response. "Tell me!"

So she does. From her doubts to how Luke told her she was a great dancer. And strangely, Moose is silent when she talks. Unusually so and as she finishes her story, she looks up at him, wondering if somehow this is bothering him and if so why would it. She frowns. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head. There are so many thoughts running through his mind; how could she think that she isn't a good dancer? How could Luke see that? Why didn't he see that? God, he's a shitty best friend. But before he can try to catch any one of those threads of his thought, he looks up and sees they're back at the dorm already.

"M? What's wrong?"

He looks down at her, smiling then, shaking his head offhandedly. "Nothing."

She shrugs her shoulders then carelessly, "Okay then, this is me. See you tomorrow."

She starts to walk into the building and he watches and suddenly, as if seized by some crazy impulse, he calls, "Cam!"

She turns around and there he is, that mop of crazy hair that she knows and loves, his cap on slightly askew, hands jammed into his pockets, looking straight at her. "You are a great dancer. Believe it."

And just those words that hold such a wealth of sincerity and meaning tip her over. She runs slightly, colliding with him in a huge hug. And she knows now that maybe, this time, he will watch her, even as she has always been watching him. And together they will dance. And they will be amazing together. That thought makes her tighten her arms around him.

He is so proud of her. His best friend… and yet not quite his best friend either. And quickly, almost before he can regret it, he pushes back a part of her hair and kisses her on the corner of her forehead. It is whisper quick, light and insubstantial but it is a kiss nonetheless, she feels it and her whole body jolts awake. He pulls away then, gives her a crooked smile and a two finger salute and walks away, embarrassed almost- but yet, somehow he has that weird feeling it was meant to happen, provoking a smile out of him.

And she too, turns around to walk back into the dorm, a smile on her face and a hand touching that spot on her forehead gently.

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Nice? Bad? Review! :D


	2. Forget Me

Author's note:

Thanks for all the sweet reviews you guys left me! I'm so touched and hence this next chapter is dedicated also to you guys (: You guys make my day with your reviews and so keep them coming!

Oh and I forgot this disclaimer: That I don't own Moose or Camille. But they are awesome.

Enjoy and review!

* * *

The familiar notes, tantalizing and teasing signal the start of the dance.

He looks down at his mismatched suit, around the grand ballroom and at his dance partner, who smiles flirtatiously up at him. He doesn't have much time to figure out where he is, what is happening, even as the music swells up behind him and the girl standing opposite him gives an impatient little huff and takes his hand and the lead even as he tries to remember where he is.

The place looks vaguely familiar- and just like that it all comes back to him. He is in the posh hotel where Natalie's party was held that time. He cranes his neck slightly, and sure enough he can see Luke and Natalie, a familiar, black-white figure holding another petite figure with a veil in her hair even as they whirl around the dance floor. He tries to relax, even attempts a smile at her (which is hard because she is wearing a mask and therefore he has no idea who she even is) but yet he can't shake that tense feeling which cramps his every move, making him dance in a jerky, uncomfortable fashion.

Then, even as he spins his mysterious partner out, he catches a glimpse of another familiar figure and relief courses through him like a tidal wave. Chameleon. Cam. She is here too. She can explain what is happening here, why he feels so unsettled and for an instant all that tension leaves him. He just needs to manoeuvre his way across the floor to her; from the way his partner is gripping his hand, he doubts he will be able to extricate himself easily.

He leads his partner as best as he can through the other pairs on the dance floor, keeping her in the corner of his eye. For some strange reason, her face is carefully angled away from him, such that he only sees her side profile at best or finds himself staring at the back of her head, but yet, somehow he just knows that, that is her. He catches a whiff of that familiar scent of oranges that he forever associates with her, and he struggles to weave gracefully without disturbing the formation of couples on the floor through to dance next to her and her partner. He is close enough now to feel the light brush of her hair on his jacket sleeve even as her own partner twirls her out and he reaches out a hand to take her outstretched one…

Only to feel her fingertips graze his hand, but she doesn't take his hand and she twirls back into her partner.

He is covered in puzzlement and shock. Has she not recognized him? "Cam!" He cranes his neck, how did she and her partner manage to suddenly move to that other end of the dance floor, they were just dancing so close by. He is jumping slightly now, totally ignoring his partner who is still gripping onto his hand with an increasing tension, trying to get her attention. "Cam!" The music drowns him out and he cannot shake that ever heightening feeling of being trapped, of being unheard and with that stifling thought, he shakes off his partner and starts to stride through the couples on the dance floor. He has to get to her. He just has to.

Yet…

They suddenly seem to all be looking at him, and couples suddenly seem to angle themselves towards him, dancing without smiles and he finds himself getting jostled, bumped and the dancers form a wall between him and her. He struggles through them, but they cut him off, not letting him go any further. There is perfect chaos on the whole dance floor now, but from what he can see of her, she doesn't seem to notice. In fact, she doesn't turn back even as her partner leads her out of the dance area, she doesn't see him, struggling to get to her.

"Cam!"

And there she is, beautiful in a ruby red dress, high heels and her hair flowing loosely down her back and past her shoulder blades, yet not once does she give any sign that she knows her best friend is fighting to get to her- she merely laughs at something her date is saying, and panic, fear, anxiety well up in him like an out of control waterfall as the last haunting strains of the ballad rise to an alarming crescendo in his ears….

_I bust the windows outcha car_

He starts awake, his breath catching in his throat.

He looks around the room, touches his NYU letterman jacket- he is not in that posh ballroom, he is not dressed in some mismatched tuxedo, he is here in their practice room, on the futon even as he sees the familiar shapes of his sleeping crew mates splayed all around the room and he exhales his relief. Thank God. The fresh memory of that escalating fear, entrapment causes him to shudder a little and he starts to shake himself to get rid of those horrible emotions- only to discover a weight on his arm and he looks down.

She is deep in sleep, leaning on him, wrapped in an identical NYU jacket. He remembers then, that practice had run late and so the both of them, having only afternoon classes the next day (or well, today since he supposes its early morning) decided to crash here rather than running the risk of walking all the way back to the dorm at that unearthly hour. The weight of her is a pleasant one, especially after that dream and he smiles slightly, sinking back into the futon. He reaches to his left to pick up a pillow lying on the floor and shifting her gently, he props her head up on his lap with the pillow so that she sleeps more comfortably.

He looks at her then, smiling a little even as he runs his fingers through her hair lightly, once, twice and his fingers ghost down the sides of her face, to touch her jaw lightly. This is reality. This is how things are meant to be, not with her not even caring about him or noticing him, but with the both of them close together, as only best friends can be. He can't imagine a world where there is no Camille Gage. He doesn't want to. That sobering thought, combined with snatches of his dream makes him reach and take one of her hands, sliding his fingers through hers tightly.

And with her hand in his, he sleeps, knowing that as long as she's right there with him right now, the rest can wait.

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Hope you guys liked it. (: Your reviews make me smile, so please keep them coming!


	3. Celebrate Us

Author's note:

I do not own Moose and Camille or anything.

This is the last chapter I'm uploading- thanks guys for being such awesome readers and reviewers (: You guys always make me smile with my sweet reviews and so I hope you guys like this nice and long chappie. Its just for you all!

* * *

He is late again.

She cannot help but frown now, looking at the clock hanging in her unusually crowded dorm room. 10.15 pm. The party started at 6 and she has not heard from him at all since it started. She stifles a sigh, and struggles to stamp down that hurt flaring up in her. This is so like the Halloween party- only this time, it's her birthday and she can't promise that she'll forgive him as easily if he got caught up doing Pirates stuff. She pulls out her phone, flips through her inbox till she sees the last message from him at 7.30 pm.

CAM FORGIVE ME:-( COMING DOWN AFTER FINISHING UP LAST MIN PIRATES STUFF. BE THERE IN 15 MINUTES. KEEP WARMING UP THE DANCE FLOOR… I'LL HOT THINGS UP WHEN I GET THERE ;-)

That was almost three hours ago and she resists the urge to text him for what will have felt like the hundredth time tonight. She wants everyone to get out of here, curl up in her own bed, pull the covers over her head and cry. She wishes that tonight weren't her birthday. She wishes for once, just for once, he could put her first. She wishes he loved her enough to do that.

She bites her lip then, sets down her phone at the edge of the table even as Kathleen, one of her friends sidle up to her, fighting her way through the throng. "He's not here yet?"

She shakes her head mutely no. God, she is being such a killjoy. Her friends- her _other_ friends have been so sweet to organize this party for her, her first party away from home and yet here she is, moping over a non-existent best friend. Kathleen shakes her head, tsks, looks at the clock and yells over the music. "He's a jerk. Don't let him ruin your night." She holds out her hand, "Let's go dance and have fun! It's your day Cam."

She smiles then, an almost real smile and lets herself be pulled out into the middle of the dance floor where she dances, and she forgets almost about her best friend who is absent from her party.

* * *

**11.08 pm.**

The party has just wound down, with the last of the stragglers leaving, her girlfriends helping her to clean up the place and leaving with hugs and birthday wishes. And still he is in absentia. By now, she is genuinely, horribly upset although some of her fury has dissolved into worry. It's not like Moose to miss her birthday party at all. Maybe something happened to him on the way down. Yet, she's more inclined to believe that one of the crew just started a dance battle and he lost track of time, any minute now he will pound on her door, barge in here and apologize profusely.

Only this time, she's not sure if she can find it in herself to forgive him.

She sits down on the couch and rubs her face tiredly, being careful not to smudge whatever remains of the makeup job her girls have given her. She looks down at herself- attired so unusually for once in a inky blue dress with a full skirt and fitted bodice and her fingers fist around and she struggles not to cry with the weight of disappointment. Her girls had bought the dress for her, claiming that if she showed up in this, he wouldn't have been able to take his eyes off her. And she'd believed, for a few minutes in that dress, maybe, just maybe she could have been beautiful for him.

God, she is such a fool.

She swipes a little at her moist eyes, pulls a tissue from the box nearby and dabs at her eyes. She is so very tired and so very disappointed. She should just go to sleep, and deal with everything else, deal with him tomorrow and enjoy what's left of her birthday.

Suddenly, there is a loud knock on the door, startling her even as she dabs at the last of her tears. "Moose?" She stands and makes her way to the door, but hesitates with her hand on the door. She's not sure if she can handle it right now. She's too tired, she might just blow up, and she kind of doesn't want to see him right now. Yet, a glance at her watch- 11.13 pm- tells her that her birthday's not quite over and 47 minutes is better than nothing.

She opens the door.

Jacob's swarthy figure stands on her doorway and she feels again that inane whoosh of hurt, like going down a rollercoaster and having the breath taken right out of you but she tries to smile. "Hey Jacob, what's up?" She has never seen Jacob leave the Vault before, the though strikes her as ludicrous but true- and something like dread begins to uncoil in the pit of her stomach. Is something wrong? Where is Moose?

The right hand man's face is as always stoic but tonight it even seems to betray a certain tension and this does not help her nerves. "You have to come down to the Vault. Something's happened."

She swallows and moistens her lips. She knows that she should say something appropriate to answer him, but for the life of her, she cannot think of anything. "Is… is everyone okay? Where's Moose?"

Jacob's brow creases a little at the mention of that. "Moose? I haven't seen him since the afternoon when he left the Vault to say that he was going to go for your party… you mean he didn't show up?" His frown becomes more pronounced and her anger slithers away abruptly and for a second there, worry swarms her mind relentlessly- where is he then? What could have happened? She'll never forgive herself if anything happened... why was she so petty to be angry at him for not showing up?- but she nods in response to his question.

"We don't have time for this." Jacob turns away a little as if trying to compose himself again. "Just put on some shoes and come with me to the Vault." His eyes flit briefly down her frame and she realizes with some embarrassment that she is still wearing her blue party dress and this is the most formal that she has been in front of a Pirate. She swallows, wishing she could have thrown on a jacket before answering the door. "Should I change…?"

"We don't have time. What you have on is fine." He gives her a lightning quick smile. "Just put on some shoes and we should go."

She looks around, where are those darn high heels that she'd been coerced into buying? And her gaze falls on a battered pair of navy high top sneakers lying haphazardly by the cupboard and she hesitates to put them on- even she is fashion savvy enough to know that sneakers and dresses do not go well together, but one look at the impatience that is creeping over Jacob's face and she slides them on and they leave together.

* * *

**11.48 pm**

The car comes to a halt and they both get out of the car quietly. The drive down had been equally silent, her asking what had happened from the beginning of the journey and his reply simply being, "Maybe it's best if I don't tell you more than you need to know." And so she'd been forced to spend the rest of the journey, wondering, puzzling, worrying even as she'd texted Moose one last time.

They walk up to the entrance of the Vault and Jacob knocks twice. It is a few minutes before the heavy latch slides back and one of the Santiago twins greet them at the door. He too is bereft of a smile, and if she wasn't worried before this, she is now, just at the sombre look on his face. "Hello Camille."

She attempts a smile, though it feels more like a grimace and he moves over a little to let her walk in first. She walks quickly into the main hall-

Only to see him. Moose. Her best friend.

She stops stock still then, her hands limp at her sides. She wants to strangle him, she wants to choke him, she wants to hug him until he has no breath left in him and she stands, paralysed- she can't decide what she wants to do first. He smiles that familiar crooked smile that she knows so well and walks towards her, "Happy Birthday, Chameleon."

Its then that she realizes he is limping slightly and there is a white, heavy cast on his right foot and her heart swells, in pain, worry, frustration- what happened there- but his arms come around her suddenly and automatically her arms go around him too but she clings to him more this time. And if she is not mistaken, he holds on to her too, tightly, longer than they've ever hugged before.

She breaks away first. "What happened?" She looks up at him and she wants to know so badly what in the world happened. "I texted you a gazillion times, you never replied. You never showed at my party." She tries not to sound like a petulant kid but somehow she feels the words come out that way and embarrassment flickers to life in her even as she makes out the shapes of all the crew standing around the room in the shadows, listening and watching them.

He laughs then a little, wryly though. "You haven't even realized."

"Realized what?" She looks around the room then and she sees a banner with the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAMILLE embellished on them, balloons haphazardly wired to certain parts of the room, and tiny flickering fairy lights that give the room an ethereal glow and make her breath catch in her throat. She looks further towards the table then, filled with food and something that looks like another birthday cake and presents piled precariously on a nearby chair. A surprise party. He was doing this all afternoon. She looks up at him then, her eyes wide. "You did all this?"

"The crew and I." He smiles, pushes some of her fringe away from her eyes. "But the idea was mine." His smile turns sheepish even as he looks down at his cast and she follows his gaze to his foot, wrapped in white gauze and plaster. "I was supposed to be at your party and bring you here. But on the way to get some last minute stuff for the party, I… I didn't look where I was going and I slipped into a manhole." She winces then, on his behalf but he waves it away, smiling still. "My phone got smashed up somewhere in there and I had to go to the hospital and all… so in the end I couldn't make your party and had to send Jacob."

Everything is sliding into place now, and she feels foolish for her anger, and ashamed at herself- he went to all this trouble, he even got hurt- and she takes his hand quietly, wishing that there was some way to take back all the anger she felt towards him earlier in the day. He squeezes her fingers in response. "Forgive me?"

She nods then, not trusting her voice even as she blinks back sudden tears. He didn't forget. In fact he was planning another party just for her. She smiles shakily up at him and he returns her smile.

"Alright," He pushes back the sleeve of his top and consults his watch. "It is 11.54 and 25 seconds so…" He pauses here, "we only have 5 and a half more minutes together of your birthday officially. Then we get to celebrate the day after your birthday together. So…" He signals to one of the crew and slow, classical music comes on. "Miss Gage, I do believe you owe me a dance."

She laughs then and she offers him her hand and he slides his arm around her waist to pull her closer and they begin to dance together.

"I'm amazed you actually know how to dance to a waltz." She comments offhandedly even as he leads her around the floor.

"I learned from that time in fifth grade," He chuckles to himself. "Remember? It was one of those extracurricular physical education classes in the middle of the year."

"Oh yeah, and the teacher wouldn't let us dance together!" She reminisces out loud for the both of them, laughter rippling through her words. "Cause we were always together and she said it wasn't fair for the other boys and girls…"

"And so I spent the whole time waltzing my partner over to you and spinning her away and taking you instead from that other dude." He wrinkles his nose in memory of that and they both laugh. By then they have stopped dancing around the room and are merely swaying from side to side, in time with the music.

"I really had a great birthday M." She looks up him and she sincerely means it. Even to be able to spend her first birthday away from home, in New York City- as long as he's with her, it is a great birthday.

"Really?" His eyebrows quirk up in what she can only call a challenging fashion. "Well I can only say it's going to get better."

She opens her mouth to ask what it is- and his lips touch hers gently in a way that makes her heart skip three whole beats. She kisses him back gently, her arms sliding up around his neck and his arms pull her closer. She knows she will remember this instance for a very long time, until she's old, gray and wrinkled but she can never forget this- her first kiss from her best friend who is not really only her best friend now. It is beautiful. It is memorable. It is… amazing.

They break away after a while, arms still around each other and she tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek again this time.

"Cam?" He looks nervous, but he is smiling that way that is so familiar to her, and even though she knows everything is going to change from now, she cannot help but think that maybe, it will not be that different after all. "Camille Gage. Will you please, go out with me?"

She cannot stop the answering grin taking over her face, and she nods even as he scoops her up in a huge hug and all around them the Pirates explode into cheers and laughter and the party begins.

And needless to say, this is the best birthday of her life.

* * *

Hope you guys liked reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it (: Review one last time pleaseee!


	4. This Is Us

Author's note: As always I do not own Coose (haha, that's my name for them, but it makes them sound like a radioactive goose doesn't it o.0) But they are sooo lovely together!

I knew I said that chapter was my last, but I decided to write just one more last one since my best friend and I went to rewatch it again yesterday hehe. I think its not particularly good, but I hope you guys like it!

This is for all the people who are craving more Coose! :D

* * *

She sits, nestled against him and his fingers run absentmindedly through her hair even as his other hand is intertwined with hers. Both their eyes are glued to the television where Luke's film, _Born From a Boombox_ is playing and they both smile, laugh and occasionally make comments about the footage of their crew mates, or sometimes of themselves dancing in the Vault.

He watches himself appear onscreen; the feeling is so strange, it's like realizing he has another head or something- but he watches on in silence, enjoying the feel of her hand in his. It has been officially three months since her birthday and to both their credit, this boyfriend-girlfriend thing has been quite a smooth transition he thinks to himself. Of course, once the weeks of teasing and ribbing from the crew and their NYU friends were over, there were issues they'd to work out, small arguments, but at the end of it all- she is still his best friend and he is still hers. And he wouldn't change that for anything in the world. He squeezes her hand and her fingers tighten around his even as she looks up him with a small smile that makes him want to kiss her and he does, lightly.

"You're distracting me from the movie." She mock scolds him when they break away a little later, nestling even closer to him. "What are we going to tell Luke when we write back about his movie? That we were too wrapped up in each other to notice it?"

He laughs. "That would hurt his feelings considering the artsy, culture vultures, he's hanging with now in that film academy." He uses Luke's own words. "Well, we could just tell him the truth."

She shudders and smacks him. "No thank you, I've had my fair share of verbal teasing, now you want to make it written too?"

"Hey, I kind of enjoyed it."

She shakes her head and then turns her attention back to the screen, patting his arm hastily. "Shhh! There you are, I wanna watch this."

"But I look weird…"

"Shhhh!"

He watches the On-screen Moose lean forward slightly, touching his beanie with one hand. "Dance… dance is everything you know? Dance can change a generation. Dance makes you believe that you can do anything you want to do, be anything you want to be. But, most of all… dance makes you feel less alone in a world that's getting more and more crowded every day."

Even as he wonders to himself when in the world Luke had caught him at such a philosophical mood (he must have been drinking tea that day, he always gets all 'waxy' and talks in this strange Confucious like manner), he watches as the onscreen Moose turns and the camera pans to follow his gaze across the room to where Jacob, the twins, Cam, other members of the crew are laughing together about something. The camera zooms in to pick out Cam, who throws her head back, in fits of laughter at a joke that one of the Santiago twins has just made and his breath catches in his throat.

He never realized he had been doing that subconsciously. He never knew. How was it that other people could see it- Luke could- and yet, he just never did?

He reaches forward suddenly for the remote and presses the pause button and she angles herself slightly, frowning. "What's wrong, Moose? Why'd you suddenly stop the video?"

"Was I always this oblivious?" He jerks his chin towards the screen.

She bites her lip. While it had driven her mad sometimes how he'd just never noticed her as anything more, it had come in handy sometimes. She remembers how when he was dating Sophie, she could use the lamest reasons to cover up the puffiness of her eyes, why she couldn't hang out with him and the ballerina- she remembers even once claiming to be caught in tears because a llama at the zoo had just died even though it was because she saw him kiss Sophie on the sidewalk outside her house. That had sucked majorly. Yet somehow he'd bought it. Typical Moose. She guessed that was one of the reasons why she loved him too, as incredibly annoying as it could get.

He watches as her face darkens in degrees and he knows she's thinking of the one thing they've been dancing around- Sophie. He doesn't need to guess, or deduce, or anything. He just knows because he knows her. He slides his arm around her waist quietly then, as if reassuring her of his presence, and of the future and she looks up at him, realizing he's still waiting for an answer.

"At times," She admits semi-truthfully, thinking of all the days she'd wake up telling herself that she was going to get over him, and how yet throughout the course of her day she'd watch him text Sophie, talk about her, meet up with her, and knowing in her heart at the end of the day it was as impossible as hoping that the sky would be green someday.

He wishes he could be less clueless. He knows half the time he's lost in his own world, honestly, sometimes he doesn't even know where his own mind leads him, yet, this is his best friend. He should have been more observant, more watchful. Like that time she said she'd been crying because of that llama dying at the zoo. He should have asked her again, especially considering how that night, he'd suddenly remembered that she hates llamas. But he'd just brushed it aside as being irrelevant. He wishes he could go back and change things- change how he'd handled things then.

She watches as his face grows pensive and her hearts twists inside of her- he never looks that way, not with her at least, and she reaches up to brush her lips against his slowly. She knows its wrong to distract him like this but she can't help it. She just wants him to be happy. "Moose, none of this was your fault. Look at us now." She holds up their hands, still linked tightly together. "It finally did happen." She catches his eye and a grin suffuses her face. "And I have to say it was really about time."

He catches her infectious grin too and he leans down to brush his lips against hers that makes her heart stop. "I love you."

It is quiet, it is heartfelt, it is sincere. She looks up at him, her best friend, her boyfriend, and she knows that when he said it, he doesn't hold it as a grand gesture of love or whatever, he doesn't intentionally mean it to be profound or significant- it is just Moose, it is how he genuinely feels about her and it is so much more than she could have ever hoped for.

"I love you too."

She knows even as she tightens her arms around him and buries her head in his chest, this is their start- and it was always meant to happen.

* * *

Hope you guys loved it! (: Review.


	5. Break Me Up

Author's note: Coose isn't mine, but they are the sweetest couple in Step Up 3. (:

**Story Note: I set this freshly after their graduation. There aren't much direct references to the time period though!**

Btw the basic story idea isn't mine, it comes from Kate- Emma and her story: Step Up 4: Play It Your Way. Check it out! It's an intriguing fic I'm hooked on too now. Thanks Kate- Emma!

This chapter is dedicated to the few writers I've seen in Step Up 3 who've been writing Moose/Camille stuff and reviewing this story faithfully! x-Whizzified-Magic-x, Kate-Emma, and ahkuellerks. Heart you guys!

* * *

"I'm going to Philedelphia."

Her grip on the cup she's holding slackens and the cup falls, hot chocolate spilling everywhere and the cup smashing at her feet and the scalding liquid puddles around her feet, but she can barely feel it, her eyes are fixated on him and there is a sort of insane panic surging up in her. He can't be leaving. No he can't. It's just not possible. No way would Moose, her best friend, her boyfriend leave without her. He moves to pull some kitchen roll from behind her, but she stops him effectively with an outstretched arm and she grounds out each word with all the pressure that she can feel building up in her body. "Don't you move, Robert Alexander. Explain."

He looks at her and he hates the way her eyes are hooded over in hurt. He hates the way her hands are curled into fists at her sides and how she looks like she could implode at his very touch. She looks very small, very frail against the backdrop of her kitchen and he wishes that there was a way that this could happen without the both of them falling apart. Already he can feel himself weakening-does he really need to go to Philedelphia? Can't he just stay here with her?- and he knows that it will take a hell lot of courage, guts and strength from him even just to tell her why.

"Cam. Please calm down." He measures his tone delicately, in the hopes that it will calm her down but she looks even more furious if possible and his heart sinks further at what looks like an invisible mountain he's pushing her up… and inevitably, one of them will fall and crash.

"Explain to me, why you have to go to Philedelphia." She doesn't have to add the last word, _alone_, because it hangs already in the room, an unspoken weight in the atmosphere of the room, a vacuum that sucks out all oxygen. Maybe that would explain why she's trying so hard to keep her breaths steady and she forces herself not to cry. She can't. She won't. She feels flares of hurt, like little bombs setting themselves off in her chest and she bites her lip so hard she practically can taste the metallic sliver of blood. "Tell me why!"

Her voice has risen to a dangerously high level now and he talks. There's a dance academy there. Recruiting teachers. He loves New York, he does. But something's just calling him to that job. He can't explain it any more than anything else, but he knows from the moment he set his eyes on that advert, it was meant for him. He leaves out the fact that he hesitated to even consider it because of her. Her, his only reason for wanting to stay in New York besides the Pirates. He cannot imagine his life without her. Yet he can't afford to be selfish, to pull him away from the life that she's always wanted and has here, right now, in New York City. She has her dream job in a PR company, and he knows she's so happy here, to rip her away isn't going to be part of his plan.

She watches him as he talks and some of the tension drains away, out her body, but leaks out her eyes in hot tears that she cannot stop. She knows him. She knows that look in his eyes, that tone that he uses only when he's determined that he wants that one thing in the world… and how he would do anything to get it and no one else could stop him. She saw it when they were eight and he was convinced he could backflip off the balcony of her house and stick the landing (he ended up with a broken leg and fracture arm); she saw it when he was going to break up with Sophie, she saw it when he was pulling the Pirates and the MSA crew together for the World Jam last year. And now, this.

He stops talking and he is horrified by the tears flowing down her cheeks. He moves towards her but she stops him with one hand before he can get close enough to pull her to him or to even touch her. He does not like this. He does not like it at all, but he gets the very odd sensation that this is a very delicate moment and make one wrong move, he could blow the whole situation sky-high or bigger than it already is.

She tucks one arm into her side and still holding him at bay she angles her face down so her chestnut hair falls forward to hide her face. There is silence in the kitchen for a while, other than her trying to swallow back her tears inconspicuously and the loud, rhythmic ticking of the clock. He tries again, "Camille, honey, please."

Her heart breaks all over again at that word. She loves it when he uses endearments with her, and she's always heard it in varying tones of teasing, laughter, love- but never with such aching tenderness as this, Moose rarely does tender with her, and the tears gush faster and faster as she knows what she has to do.

She licks her dry lips even as her tears trace her jaw and drip down to the linoleum and she inches her sneaker forward to hide it. "Go." Her hand drops from where it's still holding him away from her and she folds her both arms in, still shielding her face.

"Go? Go where? Cam," He cannot hide the panic that colours his every word now and he takes a tentative step forward- only to have her back away from him as if he is a dangerous monster, and his heart twists, spiralling him even deeper into worry, panic. "Cam, stop this please. I… We can go together. We can go after…"

"No."

She shakes her head and finally, finally lifts her eyes to meet his and he is struck by the tragic beauty of her tear stained face. "I know you." She tries bravely for a small smile, and it grows wistful. "I know you, Moose Robert Alexander." She tries to hide her trembling hands by tucking them under her armpits and backs away a few more steps just for safety. "I know you. And your mind, your heart won't stop wondering until you've done it."

He is silent. It is true. She knows him better sometimes than himself he'd swear and that is true. But not this way; he doesn't want to lose her in the process of it all. He steps forward then and she retreats even more, "Cam please."

"I want you to go." Her voice is stronger now. "We've virtually never been apart." She stops to swallow, "And maybe… I think it'd be best for the both of us. See whether we can… be our own person. On our own." Her voice breaks then and she turns it into a cough that is not quite a cough, but a sob.

He cannot comprehend what she has just said, he cannot understand it, he doesn't understand anything at all, why he wanted to go to that blasted place is a mystery to him now. All he knows is that he just wants to hold her in his arms and maybe things will come to him better. He just needs to feel her in his arms and everything will be okay. She will make it better. "Cam, please. Let's just stop talking, just, come here, let me…"

She shakes her head then and her eyes are widened and she backs away to the other side of the kitchen counter, almost like they are playing a game of tag like they do some Saturdays in her dorm room, only this time it's so gravely unlike those crazy, fun-filled moments. "I can't."

"Why not?" He is aware that he sounds so desperate; if it weren't him in this situation, he might have laughed at the dude who sounded and looked as panicked as he feels but this is life. This is him. And the thought strikes him with the force of a stone and he is very afraid.

"I…. I just can't." She looks away then, not wanting to say that if she touches him, if she goes to him, she may just very well change her mind. She will not touch him. She will not look at him. The sooner he is gone from this place, then can she crack and let everything else flow out. "Please, Moose. Just… leave."

"No way!" It bursts out of him and he realizes that he is freaking, amazingly, horribly close to tears himself and it startles even himself. "Camille Gage. You better get your ass over here right now, if not I'm going to get shit pissed." His voice grows hard and she knows he means it but she is silent, pulling her lips in, and warning herself- no way. She cannot say anything. She will not move.

"Camille Andrea Gage!"

She looks at the ground, "Please leave, Moose." She says this quietly to her shoes, and he hears this, disbelief, anger mingling into one huge hurt.

"Fine!" He never gets angry but he is now. He is angry. Hell he's beyond angry. She wants him to leave? Him? Fine. He doesn't need her too. He'll let her be the childish one to chase him away without them both even sitting down to have the mature conversation he envisioned. He turns on his heel and his anger melts a little, hurt choking him now but he takes each step out the door and slams it.

The next thing she knows, he's gone in a swoosh of wind and a banging of the door and his fresh fury left behind in his wake, it hurts like hell, oh God, worse than hell even, and she crumples to the floor and all the sobs that she has inside of her bursts out like a dam just broken and she knows that this is the end and the thought makes even more tears come faster and harder, like a hurricane spun out of control.

* * *

Ouch. I hate leaving things like these! ): Review if you're horribly sad for Camille and Moose. ): ):


	6. Two Halves

Author's note: I don't own Coose, but they are darn awesome!

Thanks for all your reviews, they really made me smile! I've tried to make this chapter not as overly dramatic, all weepy and sad, and so I really hope it isn't; I wrote it putting myself in their shoes in terms of thoughts and emotions so I hope you guys can feel it too! (:

Enjoy this!

* * *

Days can fade into months, months can dissolve into months if we're not careful.

In the beginning, she'd wake up in the middle of the night, reaching for her phone at 3 am, with this crazy, insane desire to hear his voice. He'd find himself, strolling down the streets of Philadelphia, breathing in the smells, the noise, the life of the whole city where he was just another face in the crowd, and just like that she'd be in his mind and he wouldn't be able to stop all the thoughts. She often found herself in tears over the stupidest things. He often found himself tired, wanting to be quiet- which was a rare, for him at least.

But time passed, and the both of them learned to move on. They learned how to leave the past behind, like a scar that hasn't quite healed and hurts when you press down on it, but for the most part, the scar went unnoticed, untouched, hidden under the thickening flesh of time.

They learned how to sift away the memories, how to smile when their heart ached, how to lie and say that all was well. They discovered the art of being busy, and how that took away the dull ache and made time pass a little faster. And she stopped crying as much, went out more often and he started laughing, telling jokes, really dancing again.

But this wasn't going to be for long.

**

* * *

1 year, 2 months, 14 days and 3 hours**

"Zac, that was great!" He reaches up to exchange a familiar handshake with a student, even as applause ricochets around the practice room, and the teenager smiles, wiping the sweat dripping off his face. He moves to the front of the class, even as Zac takes his seat. "Look at that guys. Zac barely knew the basics when he stepped into this room, and look at him now- you just burning up the room dude!" The class bursts into cheers, catcalls and Zac stands to affect an old fashioned, deep bow.

He is so proud of his students. He couldn't be prouder if they were actually his kids and he grins around the room. "Alright then, that concludes our," Here he raises his fingers to make imaginary quotation marks. "Presentation week." He winks at them in general. "Hope you guys had fun, and all of your performances kicked ass. " He whoops loudly himself, his voice bouncing off the corners of the huge room and the class laughs. "If there are no more questions, I'll see you all next week…"

Zac raises his hand then. "Yes, Zac? You wanna give another encore?" Laughter again, and the guy stands to his feet. "No, Moose, its just that you said this was presentation week. And not all of us have performed."

He flips through the names and faces mentally then, who has he missed out? But one look at the knowing look on his student's face and the air of excitement and anticipation that is catching around the class, he knows what will come next and true to his guess, "Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!" starts coming from his class and he pauses, wondering if he should and when the chanting only gets louder and louder in a way that will surely bring the head in here, he smiles and pulls off his jacket in a silent agreement even as the class cheers once again and a few of them break away to the sound system at the corner of the room. He can hear them whispering about what song to give him and he smiles to himself. He has trained them well and finally they stand away, huge smiles on their faces even as a lone voice comes through the speakers.

_There's this girl_

_The one and only wonder of this world_

_My world _

The words catch him right from the beginning.

He tries not to let the meaning behind the lyrics pound into him and he closes his eyes to catch the dance moves flowing through his head and he slowly starts letting his body move to the beat of the song. But for the first time, well, the first time in months, she is there in his head, in his dance and he lets himself really feel for the first time in what feels like months- longing, missing, hurt- colorful emotions that surge through him and he opens his eyes to dance to them.

_And it don't matter if the road gets rough_

_If me rich or poor _

_She stay down with me if me go to war _

_My girl_

He pops, and locks, every move on beat with the song, but he can feel that something is wrong, even if everything looks perfect to his students. Snatches of her dance steps, her feet, her arms, her moves flow through his mind now and he tries to fight them, tries to stop the dance that is flowing through his veins that doesn't belong to him but belongs to her, and the result is heightening helplessness in him, frustration and even as he whirls around and flips his cap, he spots Zac and a few of the other students frowning a little, whispering and he knows that they know. He fights even harder then to stop himself from thinking about it, but now he just feels clumsy, like a robot trying to dance ballet and he wants to stop, he wants to just walk out of this room and stop thinking about her like she's embedded not just in his heart but in his muscles and dance too.

The music plays on, and finally, frustrated and furious at himself, he does the one thing he told his students never to do: he completely stops dancing in the middle of the song and he pulls off his cap, tossing it to the side of the room. By now, he isn't even thinking about his students and he just wants… he just wants to dance. And be free. He just wants to feel it.

_There's this girl_

_The one and only wonder of this world_

_My world _

And so he stops fighting. He stops trying so hard.

_And it don't matter if the road gets rough_

_If me rich or poor _

_She stay down with me if me go to war _

_My girl_

And it comes.

He steps out, arms cutting out, a move that came from their spontaneous dance in the Vault and his mind clouds over with the memory of him kissing her that night on her forehead, the silly infectious grin that seemed permanent on his lips that thankfully she couldn't see. He spins, lets his feet go wild like that afternoon on the streets of New York, mimicking the tap dancing movements that she did and he smiles a little then, thinking of the woman who sprayed them both with her hose, the portraits of Henry VII and his wife and everything. He pops and locks again, but this time it feels better. It feels more comfortable and he cannot stop dancing even if he tried and he dances out the emotions he's fought for so long, kept in the dark for all this time. And finally, finally, he allows himself to remember everything.

The music dies down and he tones down his movements and finishes, grinning to himself, smiling at his students who are silent, wide-eyed and slowly but surely there's clapping and cheering and he stands in the midst of it all and he wonders seriously for the first time in a long while, about her. About them.

**

* * *

1 year, 2 months, 20 days and 16 hours**

She jogs down the unfamiliar street, the hoodie obscuring the side of her face and music pounding in her ears and she stops, letting the sweat slide down her face, crouching a little and she straightens, checking her watch and pedometer. Not bad, its 6 minutes faster than last week for the same distance. The thought makes her smile and she looks around her, taking in the unfamiliar sights.

She loves to jog around New York, and she always tries to take a different route each time she starts out. One left turn here, one right turn, across the road, under the pass- there are so many possibilities and so far she hasn't had to repeat her route yet. She looks at the diner she's stopped beside and decides to go in for a drink. She could use some proper breakfast too.

She walks in, and her mind immediately jumps to the proposal that she's supposed to be writing for that new client who's just come on board with them and the ideas for their publicity fills her with excitement. While it might seem boring to some people, she actually loves the different campaigns, the conceptualizing, the negotiating- all these things are part of her job which she loves. She can't imagine being anywhere else but here. She seats herself, and pulls out a creased menu tucked between the window and the napkin holder and studies it.

"What can I get you?"

The voice sounds incredibly familiar and she lifts her head, her hoodie falling back.

Its one of the Santiago twins. Which one she's not entirely sure, she's not even sure how to pronounce their names accurately (she remembers an afternoon where they spent a good 20 minutes trying to teach her how to pronounce their names, only to no success) and her heart jumps a little. His eyes mirror her recognition and he lowers his notepad and pen with a toothy grin. "Camille, senorita!"

She has always wondered why they called her that but she smiles, even as the first feelings sprout up in her- that familiar feeling of dread she always had when she knew she was close to- remembering. She stamps it down- this is her friend here, and she is acting like some spoilt brat. "Santiago!"

He leans down to hug her quickly and they exchange smiles at one another and she tries to stop the flood of memories that are slowly but surely coming back to her. She has not seen a Pirate since he left. She didn't really want to, considering how they were closer to Moose than her, and she supposed that he would have told them anyway, and besides work did keep her too busy to visit most of the time. This was one of the times for which she was grateful that New York was such a huge city. She bites on her lip then, and even as he seats himself opposite her in the booth (well, Pirates were never really the most conscientious of regular workers and the diner was mostly empty) she starts praying that he will not ask her about- _him._

"So where have you been?" His question jerks her out of her desperate prayers and she tries to gather her thoughts. "Haven't seen you around lately."

"Work is busy," She is grateful for the seemingly normalcy of their conversation and relief makes her gabble on nervously, "I work in a PR company just off Broadway. We've got a new client in. It's really exciting. And busy." She pushes a strand of hair that has fallen from her bun and she resumes her silent prayers, thanking God that thoughts are never visible.

"I see, I see." He nods, looking a little preoccupied. "So how are you doing?"

"Sorry?" She frowns a little then. "I don't quite get what you're asking."

"I mean," He pauses , "How're you feeling, now that he's gone?"

Her breath catches in her throat. It is a question no one has had the tact, the nerve to ask her even right after he left. They skated around it, used figurative language, and she got it and she sketched out her answer- something genial, something adequate (Oh, I'm doing fine. I'm feeling better. Yes, I miss him, but what can we do.) But no one has directly asked her before, or told her to her face before that he is gone, she is here and how has she been dealing with it.

Suddenly she is so tired and her eyes catch on a spilled patch of sugar and she slides her finger through it, tracing funny little squiggles amongst the powder and everything blurs a little and plop! There is the hot, wet weight of a tear- the first tear in months- on her thigh and its partner soon follows, like some intricate, mismatched partner dance. She cannot believe, she is sitting here in a booth in a diner, with her German dance friend, crying, crying over something that has happened 1 year ago and she hates herself for not being over it and the tears come faster.

She thinks maybe she can get away with the tears- she remembers oblivious moments of the Santiago twins- and she hopes that she has when he slides out the booth and she lets herself cry for a while more, mopping her tears on a napkin and slowly the barb of shame and embarrassment fades away until all that's left is pure sadness, longing and a deep ache that seems to come from her toes and reach up all the way to her throat.

A plate slides in front of her- two eggs sunny side up, a bacon rasher curved just so slightly and placed downwards so it looks like a sad face. A glass of orange juice follows and she cannot help the small smile that spreads across her face at this little display that reminds her of when she was a kid and her mom made her breakfast. She looks up at him, and his face now is kind, gentle almost.

"Look, I don't know what happened between you two." His voice though heavily accented, still speaks clearly and she feels herself choke up a little at the words. "But I know that whatever that hurts- it can be fixed." Even as he speaks, he flips the bacon rasher right side up that it becomes a smile and he touches her shoulder lightly. "You should talk to him."

She nods, tries to shake her head and take it back, but he merely smiles at her, pats her on the shoulder again and leaves her, wondering properly for the first time in months if maybe, she should.

* * *

Ooooh. Next part up soon I hope (: Review please!


	7. Of a Whole

Author's note: I don't own Coose but I love them, as always. The classic best friend becoming more always gets me.

I'm sorry I haven't been updating more frequently. School's insane as per usual, and I couldn't find any time to write this one, but thanks to a lazyyyy weekend, I was able to! Enjoy it! Reviews as always, are much loved and appreciated.

* * *

**1 year, 2 months, 15 days, 20 hours and 4 minutes **

He comes home, tired out from a long day at the studio again. Today however, he is exceptionally tired- he blames it on the three hours of sleep he got last night.

He can't stop thinking about her. Maybe he's just a huge coward, but he'll never admit to anyone that he spent the whole of last night just psyching himself up to dial the first few numbers, and then putting down, the dial tone taunting him even as he put down the phone slowly. What if she doesn't care? What if she hates him still? What if, God forbid, she's found someone else?

Please God don't let it be that she's found someone else.

He dumps his keys haphazardly onto the side table and kicks off his well battered shoes, picking up the mail that he'd abandoned there for a few days and he rifles through it, before reaching for the package that sits beside it. He shakes it. No tell-tale rattles that suggest a batch of cookies from his mom, so this can't be a care package. Unless its underwear. It happened once, and the thought of his underwear travelling through the US postal system? Not cool. He hopes it hasn't happened again.

He pads into the living room, flops down on the sofa even as he pulls his beanie off, making his hair more ruffled than it already is and looks at the writing. Nope, definitely not his parents. Definitely not her too. He bites his lip and tries to ignore the stab of disappointment that he suddenly feels, ripping off the paper quickly and efficiently. It is a white box and even as he lifts the lid of the box up, he sees…

A hat. A grey fedora, that looks strangely familiar, and yet who would send him a hat?

He lifts it out of the box and just like that, _click_, the memories rush back to him. Of them both, in the streets of New York, dancing as if their lives depended on it, her as light as a feather, popping beside him, the laughter, the joy, the craziness, all weaved together in this one little hat and his breath catches in his throat even as he holds the hat in his hands and a letter drops out.

He opens it shakily, reading the cramped, unfamiliar writing. It is from Jacob. The Pirates have been spring cleaning- surprise, surprise, even they can't keep living in that squalor they call the Vault and Jacob forced them to either way. They found this and thought he might want it back. Best wishes, visit soon, and keep practicing, cause if not, he won't be good enough to be a Pirate anymore. Normal, to the point- that's Jacob all the way. He laughs, folds up the letter and he is surprised to find that he really, really misses them. Not just her, but the Pirates, his friends, his crew. Has it really been that long?

He folds up the letter then, putting it to the side and he picks up the hat then. God, he misses her.

He tries on the hat just for kicks; only strangely there is something inside it, some paper thing stuck in the inner hat band. And he pulls out, that photo-postcard from his mom from years back. He looks at the photo, for what seems like the longest time. His insane puzzled expression ("Wow, classic." He remembers her teasing laughter.) Her genuine smile of pleasure in the shot. The way his hand rests on her shoulder and the lack of a gap between their bodies. But mostly he looks at her. He has not seen her for a year. He wonders briefly if her hair is still shoulder-length long, if she still wears glasses when doing her work, if she still smells like strawberries and apples, if her dancing is still as kick ass as it was when he left. If she still loves him. If she misses him.

And then it becomes all too clear to him and he stands, moving over to the phone and even as he dials in the numbers, he is still staring at that moment of them, captured in this photograph and he hopes, it's not too late to catch more of them.

* * *

**1 year, 2 months, 16 days, 10 hours and 53 minutes **

It is not a date, she tells herself to calm the butterflies in her stomach. It is just a friendly outing.

The problem is she hopes he knows that too.

She checks her outfit one last time; she'd taken the extra care to wear jeans, just so it would show it wasn't a formal date, just a friendly outing, as advised by her flatmate. A simple yellow tunic and some flats and her hair up in a loose ponytail. Perfect. It suggests friendly, but I'm not into you. And satisfied that she's sending the right signals, hopefully, she grabs her bag and flies out the door.

Hitting the sidewalk, she can't help but feel guilt, God, what if he was here and he saw her out with another guy? Not that when they were together, she never went out with any other guys alone, but they'd been rare and he'd always taken great care to pick her up after the outing, his arm around her waist in an unusually tight grip (not that she'd hated it, she thought it was kind of cute). Yet she feels, a strange sense of longing. She wishes that it was him, who was taking her out to watch old films on a Saturday morning instead of Joash.

She'd always known that Joash had had a thing for her for the longest time, but because she had Moose, obviously anything was out of the picture and she'd really appreciated how he kept their interactions to a minimum for his sake and how he always made an effort to greet her and Moose when he picked her up after work. He was a gentleman. And after Moose had left, he hadn't tried anything on with her at all, which she was so glad for, and had even helped her through Moose's leaving. They were good friends, but he would never attain best friend status like Moose.

Yet finally, he'd still asked her out and she'd agreed, but not before ascertaining that it was only a friendly outing between two friends. (The flash of disappointment in his eyes caused her to feel a sense of relief.)

She wonders why she'd done that though. She still loves him, so much, sometimes, it's just… difficult. Makes getting up, going through each day, through each up and down, alone… difficult. Yet, since they were over, perhaps it was time for her to move on. But the thought was just horrifying and repulsing even if she simply thought it in her head. She couldn't. She couldn't imagine a life whereby she was with this other faceless dude, and Moose stood on the fringe as her best friend, but not really her best friend too. She shudders, to herself. She'll think about it soon. Just… not now.

She spots Joash standing outside the theatre, looking around, waiting for her. He looks nice, tall in a moss green sweater and jeans and again she's struck by how totally different he is from Moose who lives in his berms and sneakers and hoodies. He smiles when he sees her, "Hey Camille."

"Sorry I'm late." She apologizes briefly before relieving him of the popcorn that he's holding in his hands.

"No, you're on time." He checks his watch quickly. "In fact, we're early. Shall we go in and take a seat first?"

She nods, and follows him into the theatre. It's a refurbished one which shows classically restored old films and she can't wait to be able to watch Singing In The Rain in the theatre itself, which happens to be playing today. They enter the dark theatre and take their seats, even as the last parts of the movie before them continue to play out in black and white in front of them and she looks around, noting how the theatre seems to be quite empty and she settles into her seat and focuses her attention on the screen in front of them.

She doesn't recognize the movie- she only likes a select few of them, but she eats some popcorn and watches idly, knowing that it's going to come to a close. The figures on screen, a man dapper in a tuxedo and the woman in a dark wine colored dress- at least that's what she assumes since its in black and white and she turns slightly to smile at Joash who returns her smile in the glow of the screen.

And suddenly the band onscreen breaks out into a very familiar song, jazzy, full of life and she looks up at the screen.

Fred Astaire, she recognizes him vaguely is now dancing enthusiastically with this woman, Ginger Rogers, she thinks. They smile together at each other, and the strains of the song are all too familiar for her to ignore and for that moment, she thinks she's eaten too much popcorn, she can't breathe, it can't be possible, but it is happening, its playing out before her very eyes. She watches as the band stops briefly for them both to tap dance together in a way that reminds her so much of the both of them pounding down the streets of New York that day and her eyes fill inexplicably. What is this? Why is she crying? She sniffs, tries to blink away the tears and watches as Fred and Ginger dance up the steps together again, they smile at each other lovingly, carelessly onstage and then the both of them embrace and she cannot stop the tears now. She misses him, so much it hurts and for now, everything, the fight, where he is- all these dont matter anymore.

She knows quite well Joash is staring at her and she knows she needs to think of a reason to give to him, she needs to apologize, she needs to stop crying. But she also knows this.

She needs to go to Philadelphia. Now.

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**What did you think? REVIEW. **


	8. Mending, Neverending

Author's note: I don't own Coose! (:

I'm sorry I haven't been updating in eons. I am a bad girl ): But I finally got around to writing this. Hope you guys like it. Maybe a short little epilogue after this…?

Haha, meanwhile enjoy! And don't forget to review!

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He stands outside her door, his bag lying at his feet even as he pulls his headphones down from his ears. He checks his cellphone, 4.20 pm, Monday. She should still be at work for a few more hours. He knows he should wait at a café or even outside her office, yet, something, nostalgia maybe, makes him stoop down, lift up an edge of a small potted plant beside the door and he smiles at the key underneath the plant. Things haven't changed a bit since he left. And as he inserts the key into the lock, he hopes that things haven't changed too much for him to step back into her life.

He lets himself into the obviously empty apartment and he kicks his shoes off at the side, walking around, opening windows in a manner that feels all too familiar for him. He realizes he's missed this, the normalcy and the simplicity of all this even is something he's missed and he plumps himself down onto the couch, putting his feet on the glass table for a few seconds before putting them down again, almost as if he's expecting her to come rounding out the kitchen to scold him for doing so. He runs a hand through his curls and sobriety takes over his brief amusement at himself.

He knows he took a risk in coming back. It's been a year and more. What's not to say that she's moved on already? Maybe she doesn't need him anymore. True, when he was in Philadelphia, after a while, he realized that the distance did them both some good. He was his own person, his own independent person but that didn't mean he didn't need her. He did. He thinks that all this, his coming back to her, was just a matter of time.

He wonders what he's going to say when he sees her later. He'd tried to come up with some semblance of an apology speech on the way down, only to get a weird look from an old lady who'd been sitting opposite him and too late he realized he'd been mumbling phrases out loud and by the time she'd changed seats with a wide eyed look, he knows he's not the speech type and he shouldn't bother. He wants to hold her. He wants to remember everything, every part of their past, their present and their future.

The future. He doesn't exactly know what's going to happen but he knows one thing: that once you've made a mistake, you don't make it again. And how true that is. He knows that dropping everything here in New York was a mistake, dropping everything and walking away to another new life was a big mistake. But he hopes, that this time, he can get another shot to try and make this all work out without losing either side.

Suddenly a loud ringing startles him and breaks the silence of her flat. He wonders if he should pick up, but chances are he doesn't know who's on the other end, the caller doesn't know him and he's not exactly in the mood right now for questions. So he just decides to let it go to voice mail and listens to the loud bleep and her disembodied voice floating out of the speaker. "Hi, you've reached Camille. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you!"

There's a pause on the other end. "Hi, Camille." He frowns at the deep voice and its awfully familiar, like he's heard it somewhere before but he knows it's definitely not any of the Pirates and therefore has to be someone from work. "Its Joash here." He vaguely remembers a tall, lean guy who was always polite to him for her sake, but when he looked at the way Joash treated her, he'd known all along that this guy was head over heels for her. Not that he'd been too worried then, since they were together and he knew that Camille was his. But now he sits up a little straighter and he listens a bit more intently to the message.

"Mrs Cargrew wanted to see the proposal for our new client, but I told her you'd just applied for urgent leave." Curiouser and curiouser. Camille, taking urgent leave? He wonders then, with a tinge of worry, what has happened, is it her family? "I told her you'd only be back next Monday so… just to let you know that it has to be ready for presentation then." A week away from work. That doesn't sound like Camille at all. He remembers how he always tried to get her to play hooky but she'd always laugh at him and shake her head no, before vanishing out the door. A week's worth of accumulated work. What in the world could make her take that week's leave?

There's a pause on Joash's side. "Thanks for the movie on Saturday." He stiffens a little then, Camille went out with this guy? He can't stop the insane flicker of hurt that he feels, or the stupidity of his thoughts that he has been replaced and she doesn't care for him anymore. How true could they be? "I really appreciate your friendship Camille. And… I know his leaving hasn't been easy for you."

He is quiet then, listening. "And I'll always support you, as your friend- that's my duty." He relaxes a bit then, knowing that whatever happened on Saturday, they're only friends. He hopes. He's pretty sure. Thankfully so. "Have a great trip. Let's catch up when you get back okay? Bye."

The phone clicks off but he's puzzled by that last piece of information. She's going away? On a trip? What kind of trip?

And suddenly he hears the click of the lock and he doesn't have enough time to think, to act, to breathe or to wonder why she's home so early, and he can only sit there and listen to the tapping of her heels on the polished floor getting quicker and quicker like his heartbeat- and there she is before his eyes.

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When they break apart she realizes she is crying again.

She buries her face in his chest, and breathes in the smell that is so him, something sweet, of bananas and rainwater and she tries to stop crying, tries to make herself let go of him but she cannot. Somehow she just cannot bring herself to let go. She wants this moment to go on forever. And from the way his arms are tight around her, the brush of his lips against her hair, her temple and finally she pulls away enough to let him kiss her on the lips and she feels this inane sense of coming home. Or of coming up for air after swimming for a very long time. It feels like relief, it feels like joy and peace and all the good things combined and yet she cannot stop crying.

They finally let go of each other enough but he interwines her hand with his and they sit down and they talk. She cries. He tears. But they talk and talk until the sky outside gets dark and the city lights go on, until it is in the early hours of dawn and she falls asleep in his arms, tired out from everything but happy. And he holds her, and he thanks whatever gods out there that have let her forgive him and have brought them back together.

They spend the week together. They spent a lot of time in the apartment together, just talking about all the random things that have happened in the year, talking about anything at all. They wake up at 3am, sit with hot chocolate at the kitchen and discuss what to do in the future, how they can make this work. They sit on the couch together and watch Luke's film again and enjoy the feel of being nestled together, one unit again. They visit the Vault, much to the joy of the Pirates, and they dance- it's weird initially for her, she having given it up for so long because of everything that happened, but for him it brings new meaning for him to dance beside her, to dance _with_ her. It takes a little more time before she remembers, and she hates herself a little, for having stopped dancing. She thinks, maybe it might have helped to release some of the hurt, she shouldn't have stopped but now, being able to dance again, better, to dance with him, is what she loves the most. They double date with Natalie and Luke, back in the city for a quick visit, the four of them going to a movie, talking loudly, making funny jokes and wandering around in the streets until its late and they dance under the glow of streetlamps until they fizzle into darkness.

And when the week is over, she feels like a lightning bug that's just been quashed, her glow fading a little even as she stands on the platform and fusses over his coat, trying not to look him in the eye because she's just so afraid of the question that stands between them now. What if it happens again? It takes her all her energy to look him in the eye, smile and say her last goodbye (and she's proud of herself for not letting her voice shake). And when she does she sees strength, belief, belief in her and him and _them _in his eyes and that makes her stronger a little, to know that they'll be okay, they can do this and they cling together for a while, drawing strength from each other.

When he leans down to give her a last kiss, its then that she can taste the promise in his lips, rather than a goodbye and it gives her hope that their future can be that beautiful.

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